Timepiece
|-|notice= this character belongs to forest. please do not edit, even for spelling mistakes. i assure you, i am fully capable of resolving these myself. some content is mature. please take caution if you have any issues with death, mild gore, mental instability, suicidal thoughts, and self-harm. thank you. |-|timepiece= ---- .appearance. look at me. i don't look a day over two thousand, hm? ---- Timepiece is old, far older than they seem, their life preserved to unholy lengths by wicked magic. Their figure is thin, malnourished and stout. Not slender or petite, but small and underfed, from years of barely eating enough. Their build is by no means graceful or gentle, but sharp and harsh. Their scales are bone-white, a pale, pale white, untainted by other shades. White can be soft, white can be gentle. But this white is a harsh, unforgiving shade, speaking of chemicals and artificial light as if they were bleached into a harsher tone. Their bleak, white scales gleam dully, reflective and shiny. Their scales are like a carnival mirror, sending a warped reflection back to the viewer’s eyes. Old, pale scars lie along their scales, crossing in raised lines with no particular pattern. The scars cluster in parallel lines, grouped in lines of their own talons ripping through their flesh in a nightmare. Their underscales are white, but a mottled color, dotted with light gray and pale blue, making their scales appear off or unbalanced. Their underbelly would be the same color as their main scales, if not for the mottled patches. The rest of their coloration is pale gray, so pale it nears white. Their wings, spine, and horn all match this pale shade. Blue mottles their horns, almost like freckles. Their overall appearance just seems dirty or unclean, as if they hadn't tidied themselves up in weeks. Their eyes are a dark blue, a dark royal blue rich in color like their mother’s. The blue of distant, unpolluted oceans with hidden depth. They're sunken and hopeless, eyes of someone that has given up. Their eyes roll back in their trance-like states, turning white, veined with blue. Bruise-like shadows color the undersides of their eyes, marring their otherwise pale coloration. The color is darker than the deep blue of their eyes, a purple-blue that's more black than blue. It looks as if they hadn't slept in weeks. An old, sharp, pocketwatch etched into their skin with ink and needles. The old ink is not faded, but crisp and clean, lined in black. Almost as if it had been drawn just the day before. ---- .personality. i wished that my magic wouldn't harm my soul. it wracked vengance on my mind, instead. ---- *mysterious *wanders the open plain, looking for something but they're not sure what *wild *terrifying *sometimes in their trances they boast of being a former nightmare, a legend from old tales ---- .abilities. i've cursed myself so that i can't even escape it now ---- Animus- Frostbreath- Resistance to Cold- ---- .other. i used to think i was blessed. i was wrong. ---- * much of her inspiration was from the song mad hatter by melanie martinez, but her entire concept revolves around the "mad" concept of alice in wonderland * left-handed * frequently gets migranes * one of her triggers was originally opals, but the line "diamonds on your timepiece" from the song royals inspired the change * literate, but only barely. ---- .gallery. i can't bear to look myself in the eye anymore ---- 2a7a76ff-bb9e-4396-b521-05dd346c5b4c~3.png|marx |-|history= ---- .history. kill me. kill me now. please. ---- The IceWings are credited with the first animi and controlled the abilities of their animi well. However, this bloodline died out in the royal family in Darkstalker’s time. Little do they know that one still exists. An old animus, a perfect example of the consequences of animus powers on the mind and soul. This grand power is too much for one dragon to bear on their own. Timepiece doesn’t remember their history well. No one else alive knows it either, seeing they were born a decade before Darkstalker's time. Timepiece was born an illegitimate child of illegitimate children, adopted children, memory wipes and divorces marking the so-called “pure” line of the IceWing royal family. Timepiece isn’t royal, per se, but their blood originates from the same family as the current queen. Knowing this, one could note that they would share the animus bloodline. In fact, their father was a secret animus. Timepiece never even knew his name. Timepiece’s parents weren’t supposed to end up together, with their father a cousin of the queen, close enough to be noticed, whereas Timepiece’s mother was just a Fifth-Circle daughter of glassblowers with no social ambition. Perhaps that was why they got along so well. Their father always hated the twisted ways of social life. Their mother realized their father was an animus after she found out that she was with egg. Horrified by the idea that her young dragonet would be taken into the royal life and corrupted with the ideas of political and social superiority that she’d never wanted, she almost destroyed her dragonet. It was their father who’d convinced her otherwise. His silver tongue saved young Timepiece, buying them time. Timepiece’s life began simply; learning to speak and fly and write and read, just like any other dragonet. But their mother watched them carefully, especially since their father was gone. Their mother had refused his offer to come with him to the palace and live out the life of royalty as his mate, preferring the small and simple rooms of the Fifth Circle. She wasn’t his mate, but that didn’t impact Timepiece. To them, the only parent they really knew was their mother. Their only memories of their father were the distant murmur of his voice, trying to convince their mother to come with him; the pale blue of his eyes with the laugh lines crinkled at the corners; a peculiar tattoo on the side of his neck of a feather. It wasn’t until Timepiece was two that their father gave his gift, exposing himself even further. Their mother panicked, knowing that, now his gift was given and he was a declared animus, she and her child couldn’t risk being spotted. Timepiece was too young to understand. Their mother made them enchant an earring, ordering it to make the wearer forget completely about Timepiece and her mother and never take it off. She knew it would be iffy, but it would have to do. She wasn't even sure that Timepiece had the animus gene. It was sent to him via the next messenger. Two months later, Timepiece and their mother were in the First-Circle market, on one of their rare expeditions to sell some particularly refined works of glass. Just as they were closing down, their mother spotted a certain IceWing with a feather tattooed on his neck, and a pretty young dragoness clinging onto his arm. She broke into tears and fled, leaving Timepiece, a young dragonet, to finish up. Timepiece may not have understood their father and why they were a hidden child, but they did understand one thing: the pain their father had caused their mother. In their mind, their father was the antagonist, turning them against the royal family with their mother. Their mother recovered, but the wrinkles of grief never did leave her young face. She never did answer Timepiece’s questions, either, leaving the young dragonet to flounder about in the great, wide world without an answer to her questions. Timepiece’s education continued, but a new idea was hammered into their mind- comply, do not order. Simply established to prevent them from overusing their ability. Eventually, Timepiece did have their answers- yes, they were an animus. Yes, their father was too. Yes, that was why we left. No, he’s not why I’m sad. One of those answers was a lie. Four years later; six-year-old Timepiece. They were following heir mother’s example, remaining a Fifth-Circle dragonet. Perfect. A picturesque lifestyle. Only one morning they woke to a quiet house. That wasn’t right, they thought, Mother is always up before me. Their mother was lying in bed, her frigid scales even colder than normal. She wouldn’t open her eyes, not even when Timepiece shook her and begged her to wake, weeping over her still body. No one came to collect the body. No one even knew she was dead. After all, who cared about a Fifth-Circle glassblower? They buried the body themselves, clawing a hole into the ice. Their tears and blood seeped through the ice, from torn nails and silent sobbing. At least it made their job easier. This was when they carved the tattoo of a pocket watch into their wrist, a memoir of their mother who gave them their name, inking it in with ink and a needle. Their mother had never taught them to blow glass or use their power, meaning that they were helpless. So where else could they have gone except the palace? After a few weeks of putting scraps of bread on their table from profits they’d saved and the measly amounts they could sell their mother’s glass creations for, they turned up on the doorstep of the royal family. They hated themselves for going to the royal family for this, but how else was a dragonet supposed to survive? The royal family took them in warily, unsure if this dragonet really was an animus, but not willing to risk one passing between their greedy talons. The royal family was suspicious, believing they were a liar, as the current animus, their father, had no idea who they were, courtesy of their enchanted earring. But they took them in nonetheless, afraid of losing even the smallest scrap of power. So they belonged to the royal family for a few years, having the majority of their education crammed into these lessons. They never loved their “foster family.” Timepiece climbed the rankings, wheedled into it by her foster family’s pressure and disappointment, finishing their dragonethood at a respectable place at the top of the Second Circle. Their mother had hammered it into their head that the First Circle should be avoided at all costs. Three years since their mother’s death; a nine-year-old Timepiece was declared old enough to understand. They were taught the rules of the animi by none other than their father. They hated every moment of it. Half a year later, they cast their second enchantment. Enchant these three pools to provide a seal to any IceWing that reaches in to fish. The enchantment was cast with their own past in mind, remembering the days they spent hungry after their mother’s death. It went down in history as a useless gift, dubbed the "gift of sustenance," but not to the IceWings who spent their days scrimping and scrabbling for even a measly coin. They were old enough to take care of themselves now. They despised the palace. So one night, satchel full of food and coin from the royal treasury, they snuck out, wearing a new bracelet picked from the treasury and defaced, twisted into grotesque metal embedded with diamonds. And maybe an enchantment or two cast on it to keep its wearer safe from harm and invisible. They settled down far from the kingdom, far from the royal family’s search. They kept using their power, telling themselves that two wasn’t much bigger than one, then three, than four. They told themselves it was for the greater good, for the benefit of IceWings. Until it wasn’t. Eventually, they did start turning their powers to themselves. They craved that feeling of control and ability, just that knowledge that they could, even if they wouldn’t. But at the same time, they feared the irreversible, the permanent. So they enchanted it upon a tattoo of a pocket watch, etched on the inside of their left wrist. Tattoos were permanent enough, but it wasn’t unheard of to remove them. And after all, no one could take a tattoo from her. So there they had their invulnerability, along with the twisted bracelet. Years passed, with their own ups and downs. Timepiece was fourteen. With every spell they cast, they could feel themselves slipping away. They would black out for periods of time, waking far from where they’d lost consciousness. With every spell these periods of sleepwalking-like confusion became more frequent and lengthened, lasting for days at a time. They were confused, a muddled haze covering their thoughts. Illusions rippled before them like desert mirages in the sand. They were only seventeen when they gave themselves immortality, a reckless thought spurred on by mental haze they lived in. Age eighteen, they weren’t careful enough in one of their psycho-phases. They were caught by the royal family, giggling madly and slitting the throat of a dead corpse. They were deemed lost, unable to be used by the royal family. They were built an asylum, a place to detain themselves and contain their animus power. The new animus the royal family had corrupted, their half-brother, gave the tribe the gift of Containment, enchanting shackles to hold Timepiece and prevent them from using their animus magic. Timepiece could feel it; the moment their shackles were clasped, there was a constant buzzing in their head and a weight on their heart, holding back their magic. Even without magic, they were dangerous, so they were sent to the northernmost end of the Ice Kingdom, contained in an asylum, guarded by a full squadron of guards. Since they were immortal, the guards were constantly being forced to rotate, with their minds damaged by hers. It became a punishment, guarding them. With the state of the guards as they returned to their daily lives after their years guarding them, it was no wonder they became a monster in IceWing culture, a legend to frighten young dragonets with. Go to sleep, or the psycho animus will get you. Eat your food, or the animus Timepiece will eat you. They’re still out there, and they’re going to get dragonets who run away, you know. But come the War of the SandWing Succession, the guards became scarcer, going to fight for Blaze instead. Ultimately, Glacier forgot about them, their legend now lost to time. The guards grew older without replacements. Old and weak. Some died, others Timepiece destroyed after they broke their chains. They had been biding their time and building their strength, preparing for their escape. And the guards had been growing lazy and old and weak, easy targets for them. They ran, still covered in their insane haze. They felt so much lighter, drunk on the giddiness of their escape and the lack of chains. If only giddiness was a drug. Their giddiness faded too fast. The next time they could feel even a scrap of sanity return to them, they tore the animus magic from their system. Enchant this tattoo to remove my animus power. A badly-worded command, in hindsight. Now they could not restore their mental health or reverse their reckless enchantments upon themselves, forcing them to live forever in agony, caught between sanity and insanity. But all they knew then was that their mind felt clearer, their perception more realistic. However, in the long term, their animus magic could not be reversed. They continued having mental illusions, turning into someone else; eyes rolling back into their head and baring their teeth at imaginary illusions. But it was better, only triggered by certain things. Clinking metal that reminded them of their chains. Shining diamonds, like the ones on a certain bracelet they used to wear. Screams of children, like the ones they’d heard from the square far too often. The sound of droplets of water, repeatedly falling on ice in a steady beat, like the blood and tears that had dropped on the ice of their mother’s grave as they buried her. Black feathers, ones that reminded them of one etched on the neck of the dragon who’d destroyed her life. So now they roam the frozen land, clinging onto their sanity and wishing they could end their own life. Category:Characters Category:Work In Progress Category:Content (ForestFire28) Category:IceWings Category:Animus Category:Mentally Unwell Category:Non-Binary Category:LGBT+ Category:Mature Content